


How Certain the Journey

by Moontyger



Series: Somebody Else's Story [6]
Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-08
Updated: 2006-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near had asked Mello to stay and Mello had agreed. That didn't mean it would be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mello lay in Near's bed, holding him, and wondered if he had gone crazy. What had possessed him to make him agree to stay, even for a short while? He had what he came for; he should be long gone, back to working on the Kira case and planning his next move.

He reached for one of the stash of chocolate bars he always carried with him and opened it moodily. Mello wondered if the crinkle of the wrapper would wake Near and then decided he didn't care. Near was the one who had asked him to stay; if it inconvenienced him, that was hardly Mello's concern. He ate his chocolate slowly, thinking. Maybe he was just lonely. It was certainly possible. He was working alone now, when he had not been in years. And it had been even longer since he had been around someone whom he could consider an equal, someone he could really talk to. And then his injuries... He suppressed a shudder and forced himself not to think of it. Most of it was a blur of pain and fever, scarcely comprehensible, but what little he did remember was far more than he wanted to. A near death experience like that could easily account for a desire to be around someone familiar, someone who reminded him of childhood and safety, at least as much safety as Mello had ever known.

He had never been friends with Near, had felt hatred and resentment towards him more than anything else; yet he was the only connection to his former home (and his first love, the man he still loved and missed and longed for, even after all this time) that he had right now, so it was perfectly understandable that he suddenly felt fond of him and didn't want to leave. Wasn't it? He didn't feel safe here; he wasn't that much of a fool, to feel safe in someone else's territory. Near could have him thrown out or imprisoned at his whim and Mello knew it. Yet, given earlier events and the way he had acted, perhaps Mello wasn't powerless here, either. It wasn't safety, but perhaps it was something almost like it, or could be.

He remembered the last time he had felt really safe: curled in L's arms, convinced he was loved. It felt so very long ago and, remembering what came after, he held Near more tightly, as though he were afraid he'd disappear if he let go. Even now, the memory was still painful. He had felt safe, but he hadn't been. L had abandoned him and his world fell apart; his dreams for the future gone as if they had never been – no, worse than if they had never been, because then he wouldn't have hurt so much. His desire had been within his grasp and then he lost it all. And then, years later, the pattern repeated. Mello would get so very _close_ to his goal, so close he could taste it, and then it would all be destroyed in an instant and he had to start again. No matter how hard he worked, how carefully he planned, he always lost. He promised himself that it wouldn't happen a third time. _This_ time, Mello would get what he wanted. He wouldn't let anything (or anyone)stand in his way.

Mello looked at Near, who had fallen back asleep curled around him, his expression peaceful. He hadn't expected him to wake, had planned to be gone before he noticed. Perhaps it would have been better if it had happened that way. But it hadn't and he would keep his word. He just worried about it. He felt far too much for Near suddenly and it was dangerous. He couldn't let himself be caught up in it, couldn't let himself think Near wouldn't use him, that they could somehow be partners and work together as equals if he stayed. No, that was a pipe dream, a rosy picture that would never happen and that he knew better than to believe in. He would stay, but not for long, and he wouldn't let himself fall for the man in his arms, no matter how cute and trusting he appeared. If he seemed in danger of forgetting that, he would leave. Risk was one thing, but certainty of pain was quite another. Mello had already had far too much experience with pain and he wasn't eager for more if he could avoid it.

He looked at the empty chocolate wrapper in his hand and sighed. He'd have to get more chocolate, though, if he were staying. And maybe some other clothes. He didn't particularly want to wear pajamas all day like Near did (and he doubted he had any other clothes Mello could borrow, even if they would fit him), but he wasn't too keen on the idea of wearing the same clothes for multiple days, either. He wondered what Near had had in mind when he asked him to stay; he wasn't the type to be spontaneous. Of course, he was sure that Near planned to try to convince Mello to be part of his investigation, but it was more than that. If he'd thought that was all it was, he would already be gone; no point in wasting his time. No, he'd stayed because he was lonely... and because he thought Near was lonely, too.

  
Near was surprised that anyone had come to wake him. Had something happened with the case, some new unanticipated development? Had he been wrong in thinking he'd have time to spend with Mello? It seemed so unlikely, but he should check. He extricated himself from Mello's embrace despite his sleepy protests and pulled on his pants as he went to the door.

He looked up at Gevanni, noticed the startled look on his face as he saw Near without his shirt, the quick flash of his eyes around the room, noting Mello in the bed in just his pants, his scars revealed for anyone to see, gaze halting for a moment on the open box of condoms still sitting out next to the bed before moving on. He looked faintly embarrassed to have disturbed them and definitely uncomfortable.

“Good morning,” Near said politely, watching the words draw the agent's gaze back to him, almost amused at the way he stared fixedly at Near's face, not daring to look lower. In a situation like this, when neither really knew what to say, politeness was often a refuge, a comfort. They could hide behind the familiar dance of manners and never really say anything at all, especially about the issue causing the discomfort. L had been much better at it than Near, at least when he wanted to be, but he was at least familiar with the concept.

“Good morning, Near,” he replied, sounding a bit sheepish, but at least looking less uncomfortable. “We were concerned, as we hadn't seen you since you'd left. It seemed unlike you.”

“I told you I'd be fine. Haven't you learned to trust me by now?” The words that suggested annoyance or perhaps disappointment contrasted oddly with the emotionless tone he used. Truthfully, Near supposed this was only to be expected. The SPK relied on him too much and were too protective of him, as their actions yesterday demonstrated. It was troubling, as their time and attention would be much better spent elsewhere. He wondered idly how they had decided who to send to knock on the door this morning. Had they drawn straws? Played rock-paper-scissors? Made a reasoned decision?

Gevanni wisely ignored the question. “What do you plan to do from here?” His gaze slid to Mello again as though drawn by a magnet, unable to look away from the man in his boss's bed. Near felt almost jealous and wanted to tell him to stop looking, but he knew it was irrational and thus said nothing. It was perfectly normal to feel possessive of his lover, particularly when he knew every moment he spent with him was stolen, more than he had any right to expect and yet always less than he wanted. But it wasn't Gevanni nor anyone else here who was the real threat. He knew far too well that when it came to Mello, he was his own worst enemy, prone to saying or doing the wrong thing in spite of himself. There was a reason they had never been friends and it wasn't all Mello's fault. Not that knowing that meant he could prevent it from happening again, although he intended to try.

Near looked back at Mello again and noticed the tension in his body despite his closed eyes, the position of his arm, and suspected he held the gun concealed in his hand, ready if he should need it. He had wondered what he had done with it but hadn't wanted to ask. He didn't think he would really shoot him on purpose and Mello was surely smart enough to store it where it wouldn't go off on accident, so it was really none of his business where he had put it. And the mere asking of the question had seemed dangerous, likely to imply things he didn't mean to say, so he had said nothing. Near frequently said nothing where Mello was concerned.

This evidence that Mello still didn't trust him saddened him, but he wasn't really surprised. Mello wasn't the trusting sort; he never had been in all the years Near had known him. Sometimes he wondered what had happened to him to make him so wary even as a child, but they had never been close enough for him to ask. If Mello told anyone those kinds of confidences, it would have been L or perhaps Matt, never Near. He wondered if it would be any different now; what he would say if Near finally asked about his past, the pasts none of them ever talked about. He wondered if he were really ready to offer up his own secrets in trade. Memories were far too precious to be bought cheaply and were never given away free; they had too much power to hurt and offered too many keys to the heart, to identity, to the self that should be kept hidden, for safety. And safety was the altar at which Near sacrificed nearly everything.

“Hmm, perhaps I should come meet with you and we can discuss it. Just give me a moment.” Near took a step back and shut the door, then just stood there, looking at Mello, who opened his eyes and met his gaze. He should be getting dressed, making plans for capturing Kira, but it wasn't what he wanted to do. So for just a moment, he let himself look at Mello, staring into the dark eyes meeting his challengingly and marveling that he was really still here. Near hadn't thought he'd stay.

He sat beside him, still looking at him. “I'm sorry about this; I'll come back as soon as I can.” Near meant the kiss to be a gentle promise, nothing more, but Mello pulled him closer, a hand in his hair and the other hooked in the back of his pajama pants, his tongue urging Near's mouth open and plunging inside. There was nothing gentle about this kiss anymore; it was hot, searing. The heat overwhelmed his cold logic, his rational plans and made it hard to think. Yes, this was Mello, always more than he bargained for and never what he expected.

No matter how good this felt, Near was determined to keep himself under control. He knew perfectly well that he wanted to give in, to stay in bed with Mello, but he had said he would discuss plans with the others and so he would. He acknowledged what he wanted and then let it go. Better to do that than to lie to himself or let it fester, as Mello most likely would. He pulled himself away and sat up, trying to turn off all the responses Mello triggered in him, all the things he made him feel and want. Near needed to be himself again, just for a little while. He needed the control, the distance from everything, that his rival always tried to deny him.

Mello folded his arms behind his head and he automatically looked towards the movement, then wished he hadn't. He was lying there with his body sprawled in an open invitation, swollen lips slightly parted as he licked them, watching Near's reaction. And even though he knew he was testing him, deliberately trying to wreck his composure, his body didn't seem to want to listen. Maybe he had just been alone too long, denied himself for too long. But it still changed nothing and he wouldn't let it weaken his resolve.

“I have to go,” he said, turning away to finish dressing If he didn't look, didn't think about it, he'd be fine.

“If you're sure, then go.” Mello sounded like he didn't care, but Near suspected he felt vaguely rejected. “I need to go pick up some things I'll need anyway.”

Near felt alarm at this statement. Had he already lost him, so soon? “I can send someone out to pick up anything you need,” he offered in a calm, reasonable voice. “No need to risk yourself in public; you can't afford for your face to be seen.”

“You're going to send someone to buy clothes for me?” Mello sounded amused and Near could hardly blame him. He doubted any of the SPK knew where to buy anything like the outfit he had arrived in, or would feel at all comfortable buying such a thing if they did know.

He'd already asked him to stay, told him he wanted him, surely this wouldn't make him any more vulnerable, reveal any more of his heart, than he already had. “Will you come back?” Near wanted to hide from the uncertainty he heard in his voice. To him it shouted his need, his fear, making it obvious so anyone could use it against him. And Mello would, if it came to that. He couldn't fool himself about that. He loved Mello, but it didn't make him safe. Every bit of himself he revealed in these next few days, everything he had already exposed, was a risk. For a moment, he was almost afraid enough to tell him to leave. The cold that deadened his emotions, the emptiness inside: they hurt, but they were safe. A familiar kind of pain, a dull ache, not the sharp agony he would feel if he were rejected or betrayed after letting Mello see even this little bit of what he could be, if he allowed it.

He only realized he was still looking away, not wanting to see the rejection in Mello's expression, when he felt a hand on his face, turning it and making him meet his eyes. “I already said I'd stay. I give you my word: I'll come back.” His voice was serious and his gaze unwavering. Meeting those intense dark brown eyes, Near realized both that he was sincere and that he had completely misunderstood the meaning of his previous question. Where Near had seen it as a revealing sign of how much he wanted Mello to stay, Mello had heard an insult, a suggestion that he couldn't be trusted. This, this fundamental difference in perception, was why they couldn't work together, why they had been apart so long. It was the reason why Mello would leave again soon and Near would be left alone. Alone again and maybe always.

“I'll be waiting,” was all he said. He wanted to apologize, to tell him it hadn't been meant as an insult, but he doubted Mello would really hear it. He hoped he would see it in his eyes, in his expression, but he knew that he had practiced seeming emotionless for so long that he didn't really know how to show it. Emotions and attachment were weaknesses; he hadn't been wrong about that, but for the first time he thought that perhaps being without them or at least unable to show them was a weakness, too.

Why was it that they found it so hard to really talk to each other? Even more so, why did they want to be around each other when they were so prone to hurting each other accidentally? Because after last night, after he had agreed to stay, Near felt certain that Mello longed for him the same way he longed for Mello. Yet, if that were true, if they wanted and needed each other, why was it so hard? Words and actions were barbed, razor-edged, and just being around each other left wounds, thousands of tiny cuts, until any hope of a future together bled to death from the combination of pinpricks that were so small as to go to almost unnoticed individually.

“Hey, don't look so sad. I said I'd come back.” Mello smiled at him unexpectedly, reaching out and mussing his hair like one might that of a much younger sibling. Near didn't care for it and stepped back quickly. They had never had that sort of relationship and he didn't want the pretense of it now, when things had gone too far for it to ever be true. Besides, he might be short, but he wasn't _that_ much younger. And he hated anyone doing that to his hair. Some of the adults and older kids at Wammy House used to try it and he always avoided it if he could. Mello should have known that, although it was possible he had forgotten. More likely, though, he had remembered and tried it _because_ he knew Near hated it, testing to see what he could get away with, looking for where the limits were.

Mello's eyes narrowed in calculation and he saw a flash of anger in them. Before Near could prepare himself, Mello had pulled him into another kiss, fierce and possessive. They were both flushed and breathing hard by the end of it, breaths coming fast and shallow, and his body parted from Mello's only reluctantly.

“So you don't forget me,” Mello said, his smile this time cocky instead of fond. His words, his expression, said he had wanted to claim Near, make them both feel the attraction neither could deny, drawn comfort from Near's obvious desire for him. Had he forgotten how Near felt so easily? Had he somehow not understood?

“Come back soon,” Near said, his voice bland but his eyes trying to convey all the words he couldn't say. Then he turned and left, not looking back even though he wanted to. It had already been too long; they must be wondering where he was.

  
None of the agents seemed at all surprised to hear that Mello would be staying, at least temporarily. Near wondered what Gevanni had told them about what he saw earlier but didn't ask. It didn't matter what they thought of his private life, after all, at least as long as it didn't affect their confidence in his abilities.

“So I assume you plan to convince him to assist us?” Lester asked bluntly.

As Mello wasn't there to overhear, Near was honest, at least to a point. “I would like to. He would certainly be an asset to the investigation. We were originally supposed to be partners, you know.” He didn't say why or what had happened to prevent it; it wasn't relevant.

“Do you really think you can trust him?” Gevanni looked extremely doubtful and Near suspected he felt his judgment, at least in this, was impaired by his personal feelings. Maybe it was, but he couldn't afford to doubt himself. And so far, he had seen nothing to contradict his initial assessment: Mello was unpredictable, yes, but not likely to be a liability.

“If we can convince him to join us, yes, we can. It isn't a decision that he would make lightly.”

“But Near,” Hal asked, frowning, “how do you plan to convince him? He resents you so much!” The expression on her face seemed odd, concern mixed with something else: fear, perhaps? Definitely doubt, too; did she think Near planned to try to seduce him into it? He was hardly such a fool as to think he was anything special in that area or that such an appeal would work.

Near looked at her in silence for awhile, until the others were looking at her, too, wondering what he saw, what he was thinking. “How long have you known Mello?” he asked calmly.

Hal opened her mouth, probably to give an automatic denial, before stopping herself and looking down, away from the accusing gazes on her. “Not long,” she said softly. “Only about a week. I left it up to him when and how he came here.”

“That's fine. But I would have preferred that you had been honest with us from the start. We could have planned things better had we been more prepared.”

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

Near wondered what her relationship with Mello was and what she thought of him. More importantly, what did he think of her? He felt suddenly jealous and thought he might have been wrong that no one here was a threat. He had a sudden personal understanding of the possessiveness in the last kiss Mello had given him; fear of rejection _hurt_ and made him want to do something, anything, to reassure himself and keep his fear from becoming reality.

But he was Near, not Mello, so what he did was nothing of the sort. He calmly made plans to try to convince him that it was best if they worked together and for the next move in the investigation if he didn't change his mind. He built walls of Legos and hid behind them, as he had built walls and hidden behind them all his life. He thought about the investigation and about the information Mello had given him about fake rules in the Death Note. And, inevitably, he thought about Mello.

When Mello returned, however, he once again defied Near's expectations, tore up all his careful plans and scattered them to the wind without even looking at them. Somehow, no matter how much he thought about him, thought he understood him, he was never prepared for the reality, the sheer intense experience of being around him. He had certainly never expected him to walk into the room without a word, kneel next to Near, and kiss him passionately, as though they really were new lovers, who hated to be parted and found it difficult to keep their hands off each other. He froze, but Mello didn't stop kissing him and he found himself relaxing, melting into it with a sigh, Gundam model dropping from nerveless fingers and hitting the floor with a sound he barely heard. He felt overwhelmed by conflicting currents of emotions, a whirlpool of sensations that drowned his thoughts and reactions. So he was too startled to resist when Mello picked him up and walked out of the room, telling the others, “I'm borrowing him for awhile, ok?” and not waiting for a response.

  
Walking in and kissing Near like that, in front of the agents who worked for him, had been a momentary impulse born out of a desire to see what would happen, to push things and test limits. He couldn't help it; it was how they had both been raised, to always test those around them. And he loved it when Near was disconcerted; it became harder and harder to do as he got older, but he always counted it as a victory if he could do it and he could never resist trying. Mello almost laughed at Near's startled look and the more intense shock of the others. As he had suspected, knowing was one thing, but seeing it was entirely different. What would they think of Near now?

He picked Near up and walked out as though it were the most natural thing in the world because how else was he to his finish his test, his grand gesture of defiance: a giant fuck you to Near and the SPK and their whole way of doing things? What would Near do now? Had he really meant it when he said he didn't care what his assistants thought of their relationship? He wondered.

Near stiffened in his arms. “Put me down,” he said. He almost sounded irritated. He had provoked Near to react; Mello mentally awarded himself a point. But he did put him down, although he still held him within the circle of his arms. After a moment, Near sighed and leaned against him, putting his arms around his waist. “I don't like being carried.” Mello wondered if he meant it as an apology.

“I'm sorry, then.” He opened his arms and let him go, left him free to choose the next move. This game between them was new and he wasn't sure he understood all the rules, but Mello was certain it was a game, one he was determined to win as he was all games. No point in playing if you didn't want to win. He watched Near closely, trying to deduce his strategy from his actions, his expression, his every breath. Would he return to the agents and his toys (and was there really any difference between them in Near's mind?) or stay? And what would he do, if Near walked off now? Would he have won or lost?

He didn't have to make that decision, though, because Near took his hand and led him back to his room. It felt strange; he hadn't held anyone's hand in years and he didn't think he'd ever held Near's. Maybe when they were little, if they'd been made to, but he didn't recall it specifically.

“Why did you do that?” Near asked, once they were in his room with the door closed, a gesture of privacy that was probably a mere pretense. Mello suspected there were cameras and bugs in this room as there must be throughout the whole building; he would have done it that way and he doubted Near was any different. He removed his boots and sprawled on the bed again, pulling out a chocolate bar, while Near sat in a chair beside it, fidgeting nervously with one of his model robots. Funny how some things never changed: they might have sat in these positions, engaged in these activities just the same as they were now, years ago at Wammy House. Anyone who knew them then would instantly recognize the pattern had they been able to see them now.

It was unlike Near to ask such a question and Mello wondered what he was thinking. “You're not very good at looking at someone when you're talking to them, are you?” he observed, taking a bite of chocolate and watching Near closely.

Near looked up, met his eyes, then looked away again. “No, I'm not.” The flaw didn't seem to concern him.

Mello shrugged and answered the question. “I did it because that's why you wanted me to stay and we both know it. You said you didn't care if everyone knew, so why hide it?” That wasn't exactly the whole reason, but close enough. Near had asked him to stay for the sex and he had wanted to rub his face in it, rub everyone's face in it because it made them uncomfortable. Oh sure, there was probably more to his motives than that, but it was a big part of it even if Near probably didn't want to admit it. Stupid of him, really. He was a teenage boy, however he acted – of course he thought about and wanted sex! Mello had been rather surprised that Near still wanted _him_ , but he wasn't surprised that he felt desire.

Near actually looked vaguely distressed. Chalk up another point for Mello. At this rate, he might even manage to turn Near into a real boy. Who would have thought it? Although what would happen then, he had no idea. Even more astonishingly, Near put the toy down and looked directly at him, enough presence in his eyes to suggest he actually saw him for once. “Mello, that's not... it's not just...” He looked away. “It's not just sex,” he finished in a voice so soft that it was almost a whisper.

Mello laughed cynically. “Sure it's not. You wanted me to stay for my mind, right? My great big brain that was never as good as yours.” If they were going to be honest here, might as well go for broke. He wanted to make _Near_ be honest, force him to admit the truth.

Instead, Near reached for him and hugged him tightly, twined small fingers in his hair. “I never thought that,” he said. His voice was soft, but he sounded certain. But then Near sounded certain about everything. Must be nice to know so much.

“Everyone else sure did,” Mello muttered, but he was the one who was uncomfortable now. What if it were really true, that Near had never thought him inferior? Did it make any difference? It didn't change the fact that he _hadn't_ been as good and everyone else had noticed, didn't lessen his resentment of the way others had treated him because of it or the way he had felt, the way he still felt. But maybe, just maybe, it made it a little better, relaxed a tiny bit of the tension inside, the tension that had been there so long it was part of him now.

“L didn't think that either, you know.” Why was Near trying to comfort him? He didn't need comfort! Except, of course, he did. Hadn't he decided yesterday that that was why he had stayed?

Sure, maybe L hadn't thought that, but L had been different, he had been the only one to think Mello might be good enough. The only one to ever really give a damn about him. Mello fidgeted, then kissed Near, sliding his hands under his pajama top and caressing him, avoiding saying anything in reply. He didn't want to think about L right now. Near must have known what he was doing, but he didn't say anything or try to make him stop.

  
 _He still loves him_ , Near thought. On the one hand, he knew it wasn't surprising. He still missed L, too, and if his feelings hadn't faded, why had he expected Mello's to – Mello, who felt so much more than he? Yet he had to admit he was jealous. It was irrational to be jealous of a dead man, but Near really wasn't sure exactly what Mello's feelings towards him were and he was unlikely to ever tell him directly. Not that Near had any intentions of telling Mello how he felt, either, so he supposed he couldn't really complain. He could tell himself that Mello must know, even if Near never said it, but it would be a lie. It was only fair that they both had to live with uncertainty as to whether the other felt anything beyond sexual desire and the connection that came of a shared past. But it was that very insecurity that made him jealous.

Maybe Mello didn't want Near to feel anything else for him. And he shouldn't feel anything else; he knew that. But he so rarely felt things like this that he had no idea how to stop, no practice in navigating the treacherous waters of the heart.

Mello unbuttoned his shirt, kissed his ears and nibbled on his neck. Near sighed and relaxed against him. “This is what you want, isn't it, Near?” Mello's voice, his eyes, were challenging. He kissed him before he could reply, crushing him to his chest, and when he drew back, the beads of his rosary and the zippers on his shirt had left red lines on Near's skin, as they probably had on his own underneath. Near gave into his own urge to see and unfastened them; Mello finished the job and removed his shirt without comment.

“Yes,” Near whispered. “This is what I want.” He traced the fading marks on Mello's skin left by zippers and seams, fascinated for reasons he couldn't fully explain. He wondered if they hurt, if Mello even noticed the discomfort they bore silent testimony to anymore. Near knew well that one could get used to almost anything. Not that he ever wore clothes tight enough to leave such marks himself, nor did he really understand the impulse that led others to do so.

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?” Near asked. This time, he hadn't been making sure it was okay; there had been more to it. Did he merely want to make Near admit that he desired him? That was a truth he had long ago accepted about himself; while it made him uncomfortable to say it aloud, to admit his weakness where others could overhear, knowledge of it had long ago lost its power to hurt him. Maybe Mello wanted reassurance, to know that despite the failure whose marks he now wore on his skin, he was still desirable? Near was terrible at such things; he didn't usually pay compliments because it didn't occur to him, so if Mello needed them, needed to hear things he already knew said aloud, it was probably best for him to ask. It was a need Near rarely shared, but it was hardly uncommon.

Mello ignored the question and kissed him again, mouth hot and wet on his, hands stroking him, demanding a reaction, until Near felt weak with desire. “Good,” Mello said at last, after Near couldn't help moving, rubbing against him, and moaning into the kiss. “Because I want you, too.”

The words sent a shiver up his spine and Near felt he suddenly understood why Mello had asked, the power of truths spoken as opposed to those left unvoiced, even if mutually known. No one had ever said such a thing to him before and he doubted anyone else even thought it. Even if they did, it would never mean as much to him from anyone else. Mello was his only remaining weakness, the only person who meant more to him than just a tool. Not that he wouldn't use him, too; Near was nothing if not practical and he would use whatever was necessary to succeed, even those he cared about. To do otherwise would be foolish and he wouldn't let himself be needlessly sentimental, or at least not so much that it interfered. He didn't intend to fail.  



	2. This Journey's Hurting

It was true that Near wouldn't hesitate to use Mello. Mello was right about that; he'd use him without a second thought and only regret it if things turned out differently than he'd planned. But right now, he didn't need to use him for anything. Near could be with him and not think about the future, at least as much as that was ever possible for Near. Perhaps he should even be grateful for the way he had flaunted their relationship and carried him out, as Near suspected it would make the others hesitate before interrupting them. Not that the same result couldn't have been achieved with something far less flamboyant and embarrassing. But he had said he didn't care if they knew, so he couldn't complain, even if he had never expected this consequence. It was his own fault, after all, for not correctly anticipating Mello's actions.

Near ran his hands over Mello's shoulders and down his arms, feeling the rough texture of the scar along one side and the stiff muscles underneath the skin, so tense that he suspected they hardly ever relaxed. Not that that was surprising. He hadn't, he thought, gotten enough of touching him yesterday; maybe he never would get enough of touching him. But for now, he wanted to take advantage of the time he had. Near dug his fingers into the knotted muscles of his shoulders, pleased by his startled expression. He didn't set out to surprise Mello (like Mello did him) but it was still nice to succeed at it sometimes.

He had never tried to massage anyone before, had never wanted to be that close or to touch or be touched. Now, though, he enjoyed it. It gave him a perfect excuse to put his hands all over Mello's body and he could tell he needed it, appreciated the temporary relaxation it gave. Even if he _did_ keep getting distracted into kissing and licking as well as massaging, tasting the faint salt of Mello's skin and feeling the texture with his tongue as well as his fingers. He was trying to pack all of the experiences he wanted, all the memories he wanted to have of Mello and being with him, into the brief time that was probably all he would be allowed. Near cataloged the sensations of Mello in his mind: Mello's kisses tasted like chocolate, his skin like salt; he smelled of sugar and leather and faintly of soap (he must have showered when he went, well, wherever he was staying, to change clothes); his skin was warm and smooth except where it was now ridged with scar tissue, his voice was deep and rough as he moaned at the stimulation of Near's mouth and fingers.

“Near,” Mello sighed, and Near tried to pay attention, to memorize the way he said his name (well, as close to his name as anyone was allowed to use; it had been so long since anyone had used it that Near had nearly forgotten his birth name), how his voice sounded when he said it here, in bed, tried to replace the memory of the contemptuous, angry way he had said it when they were growing up. This was the Mello he wanted to remember, the one who said he wanted him, whose actions showed that it was true. The one who cared enough to stay with him, to not want to hurt him.

It was easy to unbuckle his belt, unlace his pants, even if he felt shy about doing it, and Mello made no move to stop him, lifting his hips when necessary to allow Near to slide his pants down. Near ran his hands over his thighs, stroking, memorizing, kneading, loving the way Mello felt under his hands. He traced the sharpness of his hipbones (too sharp; Mello had always been thin, but this seemed extreme, even for him: another sign that times had been hard for him of late), caressed his inner thighs, smiled as he squirmed.

“That tickles,” Mello complained, but he didn't sound angry or like he really minded that much.

Near gave him the mischievous smile that few had ever seen, the one he had worn when taunting the second L, who had never been worthy of the name and was even less so than he had thought if his suspicion that he was Kira were correct. He was still wearing that smile when he took Mello's erect cock in his hand and slowly licked the tip before taking it into his mouth. He didn't really know what he was doing, but Near knew he wanted to taste him, to memorize this sensation, too. And he wanted to give Mello pleasure; realized he wanted it more than he had thought when Mello groaned, thrusting his hips up and burying his still-gloved hands in the sheets. This was probably the only gift Mello would accept from him, so Near gave it willingly, even gladly, and felt a glow of pleasure, like the first warmth of the sun after winter's long chill, deep inside him that he had at last given Mello something he would accept. All the long years that had come before, he had tried to give him things: candy, help with schoolwork, toys, his friendship, but his offers were nearly always rebuffed, if Mello even deigned to notice them at all. The only person whom he knew had noticed had been the one person who would never advise Mello to accept. Even the gift of his heart had been ignored, although it didn't set him free; it wasn't something Mello had to accept to be given, to be his whether he acknowledged it or not. Now that he was down to the only thing he had left to give: himself, his body if not his mind, he had finally found the one thing he wouldn't turn down. Ironic but somehow fitting that it was also the one thing that Near valued least.

Hands in his hair, then, pulling him off and up so Mello could kiss him, a hungry and nearly desperate kiss. Mello's suddenly bare (when had he removed the gloves? Near hadn't noticed) hands on his skin, caressing in a way that suggested he wanted to touch him just as much as he wanted to be touched, wanted to memorize the way Near felt, too. Near sighed, unsure whether he should be pleased that Mello seemed to want him so much or unhappy at this suggestion that he still planned to leave him, no matter how much he longed for him. For now, he let it go and shifted against Mello, rubbing against him like a cat trying to scent him, losing himself in the sensations, both physical and emotional, of being desired.

  
 _I don't love him,_ Mello told himself, even as he kissed and caressed Near. _I can't love him. I **won't** love him. I hate him. I've hated him for years; I won't let that change!_ He ripped Near's pajama bottoms off savagely, bit his neck as Near whimpered and arched to rub against him.

It had been a mistake to let Near give him oral sex like that. At first, he hadn't thought so, had thought having his rival pleasure him suited him very well. But then, as he got closer to orgasm, his perspective changed. It wasn't the person receiving who had the power, the control, but the one giving. He knew that; how had he forgotten, even for a short time? His body wanted him to let Near continue but that didn't matter. He wasn't going to let Near win; Mello had to be the one in control here. He was already at a disadvantage because Near had started this; he wouldn't give up anything more. He would let his own sexual frustration fuel his actions, keep him from feeling anything but anger and lust.

Mello urged Near onto his hands and knees and bent over him, wrapping his arm around him so he could grasp his erection. “Don't come yet,” he whispered, then turned his attention to licking around his anus while he stroked his cock. Near gasped in surprise and then moaned.

“Mello... I can't...” He was shaking now, breathing hard and fast.

“Shhh.” Mello carefully slid one lubricated finger inside him and added another, thrusting and stroking, doing his best to match the rhythm of his other hand, still stroking Near's erection, an erection that was hard enough now that it must be aching. “You can. I know you can.” He scissored his fingers and watched Near shiver, his face seeming so very red under the white hair that was now damp with sweat, eyes tightly closed.

“Mello... please... let me...” He was writhing, moaning, completely at his mercy. Yes, this was how Mello liked it, needed it to be between them. It was enough.

He lay back down, extended a hand to Near. “Here, you be on top this time,” he said, and gave him a seductive smile, even if the effect was probably mostly wasted at this point. “I want to watch you.”

Momentary uncertainty flickered over Near's face (why was it, that he showed emotions now that he never would at any other time?), but his frustrated desire was too great to let it restrain him for long. He moaned softly as he lowered himself slowly, torturously, and Mello found himself moaning with him. God, why did it have to feel this good, like it was somehow everything he had ever wanted? Why did he want _Near_ , of all people, so much? And he _did_ want to watch him and not just because he knew it made Near nervous, loved watching him as he moved experimentally, adjusting until he found the right angle, loved hearing the sounds he made. He wanted... something. He wasn't sure what it was. It was frustrating. And it was all Near's fault! He wouldn't feel this way if it weren't for him!

He thrust his hips up, thrusting into him, and gasped at how good it felt. Mello wanted this, too, and _this_ , at least, he could have. It wasn't complicated or confusing, just friction and release. If only everything between them could be so simple.

“Mello!” Near cried out as he came and Mello thought he had never looked so beautiful, so human. It was hard to recognize the boy who had seemed more a machine than anything living in him now. So he let go, let himself whisper his name with his orgasm, let Near know that it was him he wanted to be with. This Near, the one who was a creature of need and passion, like Mello himself, like L had been, would want to hear it, wouldn't use it to manipulate him.

  
After, Mello held Near, caressed him gently. Near wondered why he seemed so much more tender now, so caring, like all the tension and rivalry between them had been released in the burst of physical orgasm. Was it really only sexual tension that caused the problems, the misunderstandings and wariness? Surely not, but the peace between them now certainly suggested it must be a major component of it or perhaps it had somehow become one.

He watched Mello open a chocolate bar and said something he would never have said under any other circumstances. “May I have some?” Perhaps it was unwise to ask even now and certainly it was a test, to see how far this goodwill went. Near knew he shouldn't push it, should be grateful for what he had, but he couldn't resist. It was how they had been raised, to always want to know, at any cost.

Mello looked at him with a startled expression and he could see him thinking. Had he made a mistake? But then he smiled, a genuine smile, and Near felt relief, even though Mello still hadn't answered him.

The smile prepared him enough that he wasn't too surprised when Mello took another bite of chocolate and kissed him, pushing the piece into his mouth. He certainly hadn't meant for him to share it this way, but Near didn't mind, either. It felt intimate, sexy, and made the candy taste even better, mixed with the taste and scent of Mello. Near rarely ate chocolate; it reminded him too much of Mello as it was and now he wondered if he could ever taste it again without tasting Mello with it, even if only as a memory.

He sighed happily and smiled. “Thank you, Mello.” Near cuddled against him, his head on his chest and an arm around his waist.

“Idiot,” Mello replied, but there was no heat in it. “You're just lucky I'm in a good mood.”

Near looked at him seriously and kissed him again. “Yes, I am,” he said, with an intonation meant to suggest more than the surface meaning of the words.

  
“So what,” Mello asked finally, “did you have in mind? If it wasn't just for sex, what had you planned when you asked me to stay?” It wasn't that he minded kissing and cuddling so much, but he wasn't sure he'd get an answer out of Near if he didn't ask. It had always been his role to be the one who forged straight ahead, asked the questions and took the risks, so why not here, too?

Near looked uncomfortable. “I just thought we could talk,” he said quietly.

“Talk? About what?” Mello was immediately suspicious. They _never_ talked! They hadn't been friends and Near knew that perfectly well. Was this an effort to get more information from him?

“About anything, really. What you did after you left Wammy House. What you want to do after the Kira case is over. Just... talking.”

“Oh, I see. You're lonely.” Mello's voice was flat, certain, almost like Near's. So he had been right. Perhaps he should be happier that his reasons for staying were valid, but he wasn't sure. This kind of thing... He had never wanted to be Near's friend and the whole thing seemed dangerous. It would be easy to let something slip that he didn't mean to and Near could infer a lot from the simplest statement, more than one might expect. Not that Mello couldn't do that as well; he supposed there was the chance that he would learn something useful here, too. Perhaps that made it worth the risk.

“Maybe I am.” Near's voice was soft and he looked away.

“That's okay.” Mello sighed and muttered in a low voice, “I suppose I might be lonely, too.” He was resigned, yet also strangely excited by this new game between them. It certainly wasn't one they had tried before!

“What did you do after you left?” Near asked. Mello wished he had more clue what he was thinking. That damn emotionless demeanor and tone had always riled him. So rather than answering, he bit off more chocolate, shared it with him in another kiss. As he expected, Near melted against him, not offering even a token resistance, and a minute or so passed in kissing each other, kisses that tasted of candy and heat.

But after, even though he still lay cuddled against Mello, Near had clearly not forgotten his question. “You were gone for four years and I only know what you were doing at the very end of that. How did you get by all that time?” He looked up, trying to meet his eyes.

Mello grunted in response and refused to meet his gaze, not sure what to say and not really feeling like answering. Why should he tell Near this? Not like he was likely to ever need the information for his own use! He found it hard to imagine this passive boy ever deciding to strike out on his own, make his own way in the world rather than simply continuing to walk the path laid out for him by others. Near only went where the way was clearly marked for him; the desire to make new paths Mello had was one of the (many, he told himself stubbornly) differences between them.

“I was worried about you,” Near said in a soft voice, looking away. Dammit. When he said things like that, how was anyone supposed to refuse him? Mello hadn't expected anyone to really care about him being gone, much less worry about what would happen to him on his own, a fourteen-year-old boy raised unusually, in a way unlikely to prepare him for life on the streets, with no documents, no proof of his identity or existence at all. He had never fooled himself that anyone at Wammy House really cared about or liked him, especially the adults there. He got into too much trouble, was too proud and difficult for any of the teachers or other caretakers to really like him, whether they would admit it or not. Some of the other kids might have missed him, but most probably figured he could take care of himself or didn't really like him enough to waste their time worrying about him once he was gone.

“We'd both had access to some of L's files, so I knew lots of information about all kinds of things, especially about crime and criminals and the underworld in general. The same stuff you knew, I'm sure,” Mello said, still not looking at Near. It wasn't that he was _ashamed_ of anything he had done, he told himself fiercely. He just didn't want to see Near disapproving of him. Not like he'd ever have to do anything like it. It was easy to take the moral high ground when everything was handed to you! “No one would hire a teenage boy as a detective, though, not without the backing L had had. So I used the money I had to leave England, went to America. And then I sold what I knew. I even knew who the best contacts would be, who would be most interested in and willing to pay for what I knew. Almost like we had been trained to do this as well.” He didn't mention the guilt he felt about it, the times he lay awake in the dark and thought about how disappointed in him L would be if he knew the use to which Mello was putting his information and training. That was a secret Mello kept hidden deep inside himself, where no one could see. No one else knew about it and it was his intent that no one ever would.

“You sold information? Is that how you wound up with the Mafia?” Near sounded thoughtful, nothing more, but Mello still felt defensive.

“Yeah. I sold them some information and after awhile they realized I not only had information, I was good at finding more and figuring out what it meant, seeing the larger patterns. So they offered me a place in their organization and I took it. What else was I supposed to do? Better than selling other things, wasn't it?” Or was that what this was about? Was Near worried about where else the man banging him had been? “I suppose things were easy for you after I left. You seem to have done all right for yourself, gotten all the resources once his as L's successor. All but the name, since someone else took that.” Mello could hear the bitterness in his voice but he didn't care. Why should he hide his resentment of how different things had been for them? Near had things handed to him all his life; Mello had to work for everything he ever had and it was all taken from him despite that.

“It was lonely,” Near said instead, softly. “And boring. After you left, no one there interested or challenged me at all. I missed you.”

“Yeah, well.” He unwrapped another chocolate bar with more attention and noise than strictly necessary to cover his discomfort. “Aren't you supposed to be used to being alone? You always were anyway. 'S part of why you're the successor and I'm nothing, right?” He knew he was pushing things, being cruel, but he couldn't stop himself. He was so _angry_ when he thought about how things had gone. What the hell was he doing here with this spoiled little brat anyway? How had he let himself be just one more person who gave Near his way without a fight?

“Mello,” Near said, and hugged him tighter. Mello tried not to notice, to pretend he didn't feel him trying to give comfort, comfort he didn't want or need, not from him, the boy who had everything when he had nothing! “L... cared about you. I think,” he paused and took a deep breath, as though bracing himself, “he loved you. Had he lived, I might have been his successor, but you, you could have been more than that.” He scarcely seemed to breathe as he waited for Mello's reaction to this statement.

Mello went very still and his eyes widened, so shocked he couldn't even think. “How – what makes you say that?” he finally asked.

“He told me.”

What was he saying? Why would L tell Near that, when he never told Mello he loved him, not even the last time they had been together before he left? “Why would he do that?”

Near twisted a finger in his hair before answering. “Because I asked him. I.... wanted to know how he felt, to know if I had a chance with you.”

“I wish he'd told me,” was all Mello could think to say, the pain of years of loneliness and uncertainty coiled in his voice, his expression, a poisonous snake concealed beneath a beautiful flower.

“I think,” Near hesitated a moment before continuing, “I think he didn't want to tell you until you could go with him. He didn't want you to wait for him if you found someone else, didn't want to bind you to him when he was gone so much of the time. I think he would have thought it wasn't fair to you.”

Mello laughed bitterly. “Not like he was faithful to me when he was gone, anyway,” he muttered.

“Why do you say that?” He sounded curious, nothing more. Something he knew that Near didn't, would wonders never cease? Not that he didn't wish he didn't know it, wouldn't far rather have remained in ignorance about this.

“I went to Japan, a few years ago. Did some investigation of my own about his death and what he'd done there. He... was seeing someone else there. Someone he didn't have to wait for them to grow up, like he did with me.” It still hurt. They'd never promised and perhaps he hadn't been strictly faithful himself, but he had somehow never expected to be replaced in L's heart. Childish of him, he saw that now; no one was irreplaceable. But knowing that didn't stop it from hurting. “I guess that's why he never came home in all that time, never sent me a message or anything.”

“Oh, Mello.” Near embraced him again, pressing his body closer and burying his face in Mello's neck. “I'm sure he still intended to come back for you. He couldn't have stayed with anyone he met there anyway. He was probably just lonely, nothing more.” Warm puffs of breath against his skin with each word made him shiver.

It was true he couldn't have stayed, nor brought anyone back with him, but still, his heart ached to think about it. He couldn't escape the fears that this one might have been different, that maybe L had loved him more and would have found a way to keep him with him after the investigation was over. “Maybe,” he whispered, and nearly winced at the unshed tears in his voice. It had been years; this shouldn't still be capable of hurting him!

Near said something under his breath, so softly that he couldn't hear him. “What was that?”

He raised his voice. “I hadn't been going to say it, but now I think that was wrong of me. I don't want to leave you so uncertain. I love you. I have for a long time now.” As though that made things better! As though he wanted to hear it, from Near of all people! What did he expect him to do about it?

“Don't say that!”

“Then I won't. But it won't make it any less true.” His voice was so calm, so matter-of-fact about what he was saying. Maybe Mello would have been glad to hear those words from someone else. But from Near, it just made him angry. He wasn't staying, couldn't possibly stay. So what good did it do to tell him such a thing?

He threw Near off him roughly and sat up, panting and shaking with rage. “Fuck. This was a bad idea. I knew it!” How dare he say he loved him, try to give him obligations he couldn't possibly fulfill? It was asking far too much of him! Who did he think he was? Moreover, who the hell did he think _Mello_ was?

He'd been patient, even kind, tried to be gentle with him. Now maybe he needed to show him the truth, shock him into taking back what he'd said. Mello turned suddenly, shoved Near back onto the bed and sat on him. Then he drew back his fist and started hitting him.

  
The SPK agents sat together in the main room and watched the view from the security cameras with concern.

“That's it. I'm going in there and stopping him.” Lester stood and drew his gun. But before he could take a step away, Gevanni grabbed his arm.

“No, you can't. He told us not to watch. And he already told me we should trust him more. Wait and see, first.”

Lester snorted. “Not surprising a boy like that would turn violent. Why the hell do you think we're watching this, just for kicks? And he still has that gun... If he uses it, I can't guarantee I can get there in time. It's not worth it. Better to have Near upset with us and alive than dead.”

Hal shook her head. “No, Gevanni's right. Near knows what he's doing. As long as he doesn't seem in serious danger, we have to let it happen.”

Gevanni let go of Lester and they both watched the screens in silence. Lester slowly put his gun back in its holster. “It's not,” Gevanni explained, “that I really think Near knows what he's doing. I think he's thinking with his hormones and likely to be making a big mistake.”

“Isn't that what usually happens when guys think with their dicks?” Hal smiled wryly. “Then again, this is the most normal thing Near has ever done. When was the last time you ever saw him really _want_ something, much less something this human? Maybe it's good for him.”

Lester crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “I doubt it. I think it's a distraction that he doesn't need right now. If it had been up to me, I wouldn't have let that ticking time bomb stay in the first place.”

“But you'll accept him if he agrees to help?” Gevanni asked. There was a silence and none of the agents would meet the eyes of the others. “Of course you will, because Near is right that his assistance would be valuable. Time bomb or not, he accomplished a great deal and gained us information we needed.”

“Yes,” Hal said and the others nodded agreement. “And look,” she nodded at the screen, “Near will be okay. Bruised, but he'll be fine. Perhaps he does know what he's doing.”  



End file.
